And the words hovered on his lips: "Mademoiselle Crystal! do not plight your troth to de Marmont! he is no friend of yours, his people are not your people! his God is not your God! and there is neither blessing nor holiness in an union 'twixt you and him!" But the words remained unspoken, because the unwritten code--the bond 'twixt man and man--tried to still this natural cry of his heart and reason argued that he must hold his peace. His heart rebelled, contending that to remain silent was cowardly--that his first duty was to the woman whom he loved better than his soul, whilst ingrained principles, born and bred in the bone of him, threw themselves into the conflict, warning him that if he spoke he would be no better than an informer, meriting the contempt alike of those whom he wished to help and of the man whom he would betray. It was one sound coming from below which settled the dispute 'twixt heart and reason--the sound of de Marmont's voice which though he was apparently speaking of indifferent matters had that same triumphant ring in it which Clyffurde had heard at Notre Dame de Vaulx this morning. The sound had caused Crystal to give a quick gasp and to clasp her hands against her breast, as she said with a nervous little laugh: "Imagine how happy we are to have M. de Marmont's support in this terrible crisis! His influence in Grenoble and in the whole province is very great: his word in the town itself may incline the whole balance of public feeling on the side of the King, and who knows, it may even help to strengthen the loyalty of the troops. Oh! that Corsican brigand little guesses what kind of welcome we in the Dauphiné are preparing for him!" Her enthusiasm, her trust, her loyalty ended the conflict in Clyffurde's mind far more effectually than any sober reasoning could have done. He realised in a moment that neither abstract principles, nor his own feelings in the matter, were of the slightest account at such a juncture. What was obvious, certain, and not to be shirked, was duty to a woman who was on the point of being shamefully deceived, also duty to the man whose hospitality he had enjoyed. To remain silent would be cowardly--of that he became absolutely certain, and once Bobby had made up his mind what duty was no power on earth could make him swerve from its fulfilment. "Mlle. Crystal," he began slowly and deliberately, "just now, when I was bold enough to offer you my friendship, you deigned to accept it, did you not?" "Indeed I did, Sir," she replied, a little astonished. "Why should you ask?" "Because the time has come sooner than I expected for me to prove the truth of that offer to you. There is something which I must say to you which no one but a friend ought to do. May I?" But before she could frame the little "Yes!" which already trembled on her lips, her father's voice and de Marmont's rang out from the further end of the room itself.